Lament
by Amindaya
Summary: This is the second half of the L chapter for NSSAA that I left out due to off canon and out of character, but I figured someone might want to read it anyway.


This was the other half of the L chapter Lament that I decided to cut off because it was way off canon and out of character. I thought some of you might like to read it, but it has absolutely nothing to do with NSSAA. Even though I cut it out, it seems like such a waste to write it out and then delete it.

* * *

We're sitting at the computer—it is a little after ten o'clock, and I'm just beginning to wonder where the other members of the investigation are when there is a knock on the door. I look over at your monitor, which shows my father.

I immediately know something is wrong. The grim expression on your face, the absence of the other members of the team: it's a horrible feeling that sparks in my gut. My eyes are inexorably drawn to the door as it opens and my father steps inside.

"Can I have a moment alone with Light?" he asks stiffly.

"I cannot allow that, Yagami-san." The regret in your voice sounds almost genuine. Confused, I look to my father for an explanation.

"It's Sayu, Light. She was hit last night by a car. This morning…I'm so sorry, son, but she's dead."

The world stops.

What did he just say? I look to you, asking for confirmation; I'm sure that you didn't just hear the same thing I heard, because what I hear was so ridiculous, so unbelievable, that it can't _possibly_ be real. You give me no sign that you've heard anything at all, but the look in your eyes is so very wrong that I know it has to be true. I slowly turn back to my father.

"Why didn't you call me?" is all I can manage to say. My voice is no louder than a breath; I cough to clear my throat, which is suddenly constricted and dry.

He gives you the fiercest glare ever. So that's what happened. He _did_ call you, and you told him that I was unable to come. Your behavior this morning makes sense, the way you got me out of bed as soon as possible: you knew that any moment, my father would come to tell me, and you wanted me to be ready.

"I wanted to tell you in person, Light," my father continues, his voice strained.

I break out of a sort of daze at the sound of his voice. "When is the funeral?"

He looks taken aback by my bluntness, before his eyes soften. "I've notified the rest of the family. Including your aunt in Nagasaki; she should be here by tomorrow morning. We…we want to bury her as soon as possible."

My father leaves, and I pass through the rest of the day in a sort of numb daze. You soon decide that my state is entirely unproductive and leave me to my own devices. I play minesweeper on the computer, trying to beat my old score.

I should feel bad, I should cry. This is my little sister, after all, so I should be in the depths of despair, but I find that I just think of her as a person. Just a person and nothing else. I don't see her as my little sister who I would help with homework, who I would tease when the occasion called for it—she was just Sayu, and she is dead, and that is the extent of it. I'm more surprised that this happened to me, now…I'm more upset that this was something that I never expected. I'm angry that I was caught off guard, that I don't know how to react to this, and now what do you think of me?

God, am I really this cold?

* * *

Stupid people think they know everything. Intelligent people know how much they don't know. Sometimes…rarely, I assure you…I wish I were stupid, so that I could be totally ignorant, secure in what I know and oblivious to the truer, darker workings of the universe.

Of course, I don't where that leaves you.

You argue with my father about the funeral, an argument that I steadfastly refuse to participate in. I'm ambiguous about the whole thing…I couldn't care one way or another whether I go. Death is simply death—necessary, unavoidable. I don't understand the fascination or the fear.

I barely hear when my father leaves the room. You sit in the chair next to me as I await your decision. You turn to me, and proclaim, "I think that, in this case, we can make an exception to your confinement."

I nod, and turn back to my work.

* * *

My father stands next to me, not embracing me, not speaking to me, but just announcing his presence at my side, trying with his most desperate self-control to hold back his anguish. His face stoic, he tries to be strong for my mother and me.

And I find that I hate it.

Misa stands to my other side, and you stand behind us, looking through the window of our shoulders at the casket. And I need contact, have needed it for the past two days, but this is more desperate than that. I need…I just need to feel like a human being right now, need for it to be okay for me to be weak. I don't want to stand there like my father and take it.

"Misa," I say softly, surprised to find her eyes brimming with tears. She can get so emotional over the tiniest things. I detest over-emotional people: I find it unnecessary.

This is all the invitation she needs. Whereas before she was allowing me time to be introspective, she bursts out, "I'm so sorry, Light. I mean, your _sister_. I'm so sorry."

It's disturbing to see that she's more upset over this than I am. I know what she needs right now, I know what should do, what I have to do. So that's what I do. In one quick movement, I reach out and wrap one hand around her waist, pulling closer to wrap my other arm around her, and then bury my neck in her shoulder to seek the warmth there.

It's like the tension drains from my body, the sense of relief is so overpowering. I could cry simply from the beauty of her soft skin against mine, of my arms wrapped tightly around her waist, of holding her against me and feeling her arms come up to rest on my shoulders. Nothing in the world has ever felt more perfect; I think I might be crushing her, but I don't have it in me to care, because I know that this is what I have needed. This is proof of why my body has been behaving so strangely.

It's safe to do this, to give into my weakness, because by comforting her I am merely fulfilling my role as her boyfriend and as a male in general. Never mind that I need this as much as she does. "Shh, Misa," I soothe in her ear, feeling her shoulders shake with hiccoughing sobs. As I do so, I look over her shoulder, and I'm surprised by your expression. Your eyes are narrowed, but that's all the evidence I need to discern your displeasure. I can clearly see the jealousy there.

I bury my face in her neck, hiding, when I realize with a pang that I wish you were jealous of her for having me, instead of the other way around. And then with another little jolt of disgust, I realize I want it to be you that I have my neck buried in, because out of all the people here, I'm sure you understand best how I feel about Sayu's death.

I push myself away from Misa and turn around, muttering a quick "I'll be in the car" to my parents, not even waiting for a response before I'm storming away from them.

But of course I've forgotten that you're attached to me, that I can never get away, can never be alone. You follow me, staying as far behind me as our chain will allow as I walk briskly toward the car.

I can't mourn my sister, but I can mourn myself.

Why did we have to bury her on such a ridiculously sunny day?

I get in the car, closing the door behind me, though I know it won't close because of the chain. The noise it makes is horrible, and for a few seconds I think the chain may have broke, but it's only wishful thinking. My message is clear: STAY AWAY, but you don't heed it. I imagine it's because you don't want to stand outside the car in the sun.

You open the door, but I have taken the seat closest and you can't go around to the other side for obvious reasons. You stand there for a few seconds before correctly deciding there's nothing you can do to make me scoot over. So you climb in the car and crawl over my lap to get to the other seat. I feel the urge to punch you again, and I'm very happy to note that that's the only urge I feel.

We sit there for a long time before your quiet, even voice breaks the silence. "Sometimes I wonder if you might not be Kira. Something about the way you act: it's less like acting than it was before your confinement."

You halt, then begin again.

"It seems like there are things you do that you never would have done before. You've either allowed yourself to become careless, which I don't see happening, or you truly have nothing to hide. Before…I am positive that you never would have hit me. I'm positive that you would never even touch me, afraid of what that might imply. You seem more impulsive now, less guarded."

"I'm _not_," I protest, but you continue as if you don't hear me. Maybe I didn't really speak at all.

"Like there was something standing in the way before, and then it was suddenly removed. What was it?" You sound confused. You don't know the answer.

But of course I can't tell you, because I don't know either.

For all my reasoning abilities, I still can't decide what to do with myself. This feeling that I've had ever since Sayu's death, it's not sadness, or anger, or self-pity. It's…awkwardness.

"I must say, Light, that the timing of this certainly doesn't exonerate you."

My head snaps up to look at you. Is that what you think? I see your reasoning, however incorrect it may be. If I were Kira, killing my sister to get me out of confinement for a day would be the perfect plan. But I know that's ridiculous: either Kira didn't kill her because I am Kira, or I'm not Kira because Kira did kill her. I know that even if I were Kira, if I could bring myself to kill so many people that, admittedly, are somewhat of a burden upon the world, I would _never_ sacrifice a member of my family, no matter the circumstances…if only for the reason that it's careless to kill those with a connection to myself, and you would jump on me in a heartbeat, like you're doing now.

So I do the only thing that can be expected of me in this situation, the only thing I want to do. I grab the front of your shirt and wrap my fingers in the material. You didn't even change into formal attire for my sister's wedding, you just wore your same white long-sleeved t-shirt and your damn jeans. I pull you forward until we're nose to nose, and then I growl; "_Bastard_."

That fight that we avoided the other day manifests itself in full force. There's no truly murderous anger, just fighting, and it feels good to let these frustrated feelings out on something, something that can't get hurt.

We punch and kick each other, hit after hit, pummeling each other into the car door and the car seat, shaking the entire vehicle in our enthusiasm.

It seems like this goes on forever. You don't seem like you'll ever stop; you have an endless supply of energy. But eventually it gets boring, pointless, as so many things do, and I recognize that we need to stop before someone's head goes through the window. So instead of punching you, I collapse on top of you, exhausted, my chest expanding and contracting violently as I rest my head against your chest. I feel you tense and know that you would prefer a million punches to the face over this, but there's no way in hell I'll let you push me off.

This is some form of heaven. Just like with Misa, being able to touch someone, anyone at all, is euphoric. I wish I could squeeze you tightly—I wouldn't have to worry about breaking you, unlike with Misa—but I suppose this is enough. I'm not greedy.

I lay with one arm dangling over the edge of the seat, my fingers just touching the floor; my other arm is folded uncomfortably between my body and the back of the seat, slowly going numb. I think your hands float somewhere above my shoulders, indecisive, until you finally let them fall back against the seat, and I'm absurdly thankful you didn't push me away.

I want to tell you how I feel about Sayu, about her death, but I can't. You'll see me as a Kira suspect, not as a person who has just lost his sister. I can never let down my guard, because anything I say will only be filed away for future use, used to somehow implicate me in the murders.

We lay there for a few long minutes, catching our breath, silent, before we hear a tap on the window. I lift my head to look and you crane your neck to the side, and we see Watari beginning to get into the car.

He says nothing about our sweat, about our bruises, about how I jump off of you and shift to my side of the car. He merely starts the car, and we drive in complete silence back to my prison.


End file.
